Flutter of Breath
by fluffyinmypocket
Summary: Pitch has been defeated, but there are things out there that hunt even nightmares. Leading the Guardians into unknown circumstances, Sandy answers a call for aid from his once enemy. But with fear fading and dangers rising against the children of the world, will the Guardians be able to protect the darkness or are they all doomed to be eclipsed by something even bigger?
1. Empty Room

_Daddy, wake up._

Golden eyes flew open, frantically searching the darkness for any sign of movement as he gasped for breath, fighting off the vague feeling of suffocation. The room that he found himself in, the throne room of his lair was darker than it usually was due to the lack of entryway from the outside world, but the loss of light made no difference to his sharp eyes. Faintly he could see the outline of one of his Nightmares lingering in the shadows, but he could discern no others in his periphery. Probably a good thing, as now that he was able to establish the lack of immediate danger the Nightmare King could feel the keen ache of his injuries making themselves known and could not help but let out a soft groan of discomfort. Being sprawled out on the cold stone of the floor for who knows how long did nothing to help matters. Thank whatever gods there were that he was immortal.

Not quite sure how he had managed to get to this room in particular, but not really caring, Pitch allowed his head to lull to the side. A light layer of dust had settled on the floor, giving some hint as to how long he had been unconscious. The Nightmare King was disgusted but it distant, almost as if the emotion belonged to someone else. Surely there were far more sanitary and comfortable places to rest than the cold stone underneath empty cages of annoyingly colorful molted fairy feathers.

Everything hurt and as he moved to sit his ribs seemed to scream at him the loudest for the abuse, causing a sharp, burning ache to skitter up his sides. Barely leaning on his elbows, Pitch screwed his eyes closed and tightened his jaw in preparation for what was to follow. There really was no other way, not unless he was to continue to lie on the floor the rest of eternity. So with one last shallow breath, the dark man forced himself into an upright standing position, resolutely ignoring the agony that the movement shot up and down his spine. Will power alone could not stop the world from greying at the edges of his vision, unfortunately, and Pitch knew that he was only seconds from collapsing back onto the hard stone floor again when he felt a solid form to his side keeping him upright. It took a moment for him to recognize the familiar semi-solidness of the Nightmare but Pitch was no less grateful for the assistance that one of the beings that had aided in his downfall was willing to provide.

"Good girl," he whispered to the beast, chuckling slightly when it turned her head to lip gently at his clothed shoulder. The Fearlings had always been nasty creatures that made his skin crawl but the Nightmares came with some mild fondness. And while the brief affection was all well and good, Pitch knew that he had to start moving while he still had a little amount of strength left to do so. Lingering was of no use to anyone. Resolutely he reached out with one greyed hand and nudged on the mare's head, silently indicating what he required from her. The mare needed no other prompting and began sedately walking from the darkness of the throne room toward the private quarters of the darkened lair.

He was grateful for his reputation at that moment in keeping others out of his home, as it meant that there was no reason that his rooms could not be close by to his holding chambers. Not that it did him much good anyway. The man and beast had just hardly made their way across the room and into the hallway before his strength began to leave him and he could feel his knees begin to buckle. It was only a split second adjustment of the mare at his side that had Pitch sliding down with her to the floor rather than tumbling down face first.

"Damn it all," he hissed tiredly. Pitch had never had to face this type of weakness before and the mere thought of it infuriated the dark man._ How dare they. HOW DARE THEY!_

Those stupid guardians probably didn't know, and if he was honest, didn't care about the damage that they had caused him during their little battle. What true harm could they really do a millennia old immortal? Four against one was bad enough without that little cretin, Sandman, using his sand to fling him around like a child's rag-doll. Yes, he had had the dream sand to work with and the Nightmares, but what was that in comparison to the powers of all the Guardians combined? What could possibly be worse than being cut down in front of the very beings that he had tried to instill a feeling of fearful respect? And then to have his own Fearlings drag him away had been rather embarrassing, sure, but the worst had been the feeling of all the power that he had worked so hard to regain over the centuries drain away because of those little brats that shouldn't have been a part of the conflict anyway. At least when he had fallen with the Dark Ages there had still been enough belief in him that though he was weakened he was still a force to be reckoned with. Now though, there was nothing to draw on but his own determination and that was quickly dwindling to nothing.

Pitch was brought back to the moment when he felt a tugging on the sleeve of his robes and turned his head to look at the mare calmly trying to get his attention. The Nightmare neighed softly when she saw that she had his notice and began to discorporate. Pitch panted in pain as the mare rematerialized underneath him, jostling his wounds and was quick to grab onto her mane to keep from sliding back to the floor. Gold eyes screwed up again as the sudden movement caused his stomach to rebel and try to remove any nonexistent food from his body. The Nightmare King made himself to take even, shallow breaths to keep from being violently ill as his mare continued on her way down the dim corridor. He could hardly blame the beast for his condition, she was only trying to help, but every step was agony and he was forced to press his face into her mane.

From the intensity of the sickness, Pitch could hazard a guess that he had been out for well more than a couple of hours, perhaps even days and that did not bode well for his chances of gaining his powers back in any quick manner. Regardless of how many nightmares came back to him, the general healing of his wounds would be primarily up to his own strength and there was not much of that to be found at the moment.

Stomach jolting again when the mare came to a stop, he pulled his face out of the soft sand that made up her mane and glanced about. The beast had brought him to his room, not that there was much to make it his more than any other room in the place. The walls were black marble, just as the rest of the lair was, and a few candles in sconces on the walls provided the only illumination in the darkness. There was little evidence that anyone had used this room in the recent past other than a few books on a bedside table and the dark grey sheets on the midsized bed that was pushed against the far wall. Outside of these few pieces of furniture, the room was bare of any and all items that may have made it more comfortable. Pitch had never minded this lack of personality in the room; he had never had many possessions to begin with and those that he truly cared about were kept on his person at all times.

With another groan, Pitch pushed himself up and practically fell onto the bed, stifling a scream when the pain flared up intensely with the careless motion. His vision darkened and the nausea that had threatened before came back relentlessly and proceeded to beat his head in with a dull spoon. Wave after wave of the intense feeling hit him for what could have been hours for all he knew, twisting and pulling his insides into rather creative origami, before slowly beginning to abate and he let out the breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. Laying where he was, with his left arm at his side and his right over his chest, legs askew and the sheets pooled around his frame, Pitch tried to regulate his breathing once again.

Once he felt like he was no longer careening into empty space, he opened his eyes to focus on the ceiling, the Nightmare King noticed that any light that had once filtered into the room had long been extinguished and the mare was gone from his side. It didn't matter. He was used to the darkness, it was what he was. And being alone was also nothing new, as he had spent hundreds of years in this very place without another being outside of the Fearlings…not that they counted as company. The lack of light did limit his choices of what he could do at the moment, though. While his vision in the dark was supreme in comparison to other spirits, trying to read in such cases was extremely difficult and he doubted that he was up for the task at the moment. Anything else required movement on his part and Pitch was loathe to do anything that even made him blink funny at this point. So the only real option that he had was to push himself into sleep and hope that he had healed more thoroughly when he next came around.

Already he could feel bone trying to realign themselves for healing and the multitude of cuts and scrapes had already scarred from his tenure on the throne room floor. His entire body felt like one giant bruise, each pulse of blood causing a numbing ache that would take days proper to stop. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been wounded this badly, to the point where he could barely move without pain, however, just because he couldn't remember it didn't mean it hadn't happened. Maybe not as the King of Nightmares but as someone else and now sleep seemed so much more palatable than these confusing shadow memories.

With a sigh he forced his tense muscles to relax into the cool fabric beneath him and closed his eyes once more, ready to lose himself to the peaceful oblivion that was unconsciousness. It was quiet for now, and he was sure that if something were to arise that needed his attention- the Nightmares would wake him. All that was needed for now was to heal and regain his strength. As he allowed his mind to fade into the black, his fingers inched up his chest to the skin right over his heart where a little lump formed under the flesh and stoked the area gently. The fingers passed over once, twice, and then he knew no more.

* * *

It was the stillness that next woke him. Through the years, Pitch had grown used to the subtle shifts in the air that came with the passing of a Fearling or more recently a Nightmare, sort of the way one becomes used to the gentle sound of electricity in the house, a sound that lay in the background of all other noise. It becomes a constant, unnoticeable in the day to day passing of life, but the moment this white noise is gone, the silence explodes around you without this gentle buffer.

Now, there was no movement of any kind in the lair. No Fearlings swooped through the shadows, no Nightmares skittering across the stone. It was almost suffocating. Even in the most sedate of times there was always some sort of movement somewhere in the depths of the darkness, but now there was only stillness.

Something was wrong and Pitch lie still for a moment, hoping vainly that some small whisper of something would reach him. But in his life, the only luck that he had ever known was bad luck, and now was no exception.

Slowly, so as not to aggravate any lingering wounds, Pitch pushed himself to a sitting position assessing the room as he went. There was no hiding in the dark from the man who made an art form out of utilizing the shadows. Golden eyes swept over every corner that may conceal something or someone and came away with the assurance that, at least in this room, he was alone. That didn't mean much. Quickly doing an inventory of himself, Pitch was able to ascertain that while his bones had healed and the scars where mostly gone, he was nowhere near peak form. His limbs were stiff from abuse and lack of use, aches still covered his body, and a general weariness clung to him like a cloak in the rain. Enough to get around but not much else.

Despite this, something was not right in his lair and Pitch needed to find out what it was before it began to cause major problems. Rising from the bed, he made his way slowly to the doorway and placed his hand upon the metal of the door's handle. The metal was cool under his skin, but not nearly as cool as the ice that seemed to shoot down his spine. The last that he recalled, the door to this room had been left open as the mare had brought him through and he had not had the inclination to close it at the time. The Nightmares could touch things, but there was not enough strength in the sand for one to move something as heavy as a door without many of them working at it and the Fearlings would never bother even if they could. So that left the question as to whom.

Someone or something had been roaming about in his lair, had been in his room with him uninvited while he was at his most vulnerable and that was not a comforting thought. Pitch called to the shadows and opened the door as his scythe materialized in his hand, stepping out into the dark of the corridor as it finished. Nothing appeared to be amiss, but something in the back of his mind told the Nightmare King that something was waiting for him further in the tunnels. Steeling himself against the wrongness in the air, Pitch began to creep down the length of the hall, silently calling to his Nightmares and Fearlings. He was disturbed but not altogether surprised when he felt no answer to his summons.

He moved silently, his boots making no noise upon the stone as he continued, making his way to the throne room. That was where whatever had made itself at home in his lair was hiding, he was sure of it. Pitch followed that feeling to the end of the corridor and allowed himself one more moment of preparation before peeking into the darkness beyond. He was in no condition for a fight and if things dissolved into one, he had to be on his guard.

Nothing obvious met his gaze, no disturbances in the dust on the floor, no break in the darkness of the shadows. Cautiously he stepped out into the room, being sure not to venture far from the wall. When nothing rushed out to meet him, Pitch allowed himself further into the room hoping to get a feel for whatever was here and when he felt the tell-tale feel of sand upon his free hand the dark man froze. He knew what it was immediately, it was the mare that had helped him in his weakness, but the fact that he hadn't even felt her before she touched him caused the blaring feeling of wrongness in his head to only increase. He slowly allowed his hand to move over her and rest on her neck, never allowing his gaze to leave the darkness around him.

Under his fingers he could feel the mare trembling lightly causing his anxiety to ratchet up. What did it mean when something scared a being of fear itself? Minutes passed and neither moved, eyes carefully watching for any discrepancy in the shadows that might allow some clue as to where the feeling of danger was coming from and when one of the shadows shifted slightly both were instantly on guard for attack.

But the second that it took for the air in the room to shift and become so thin as to almost not exist, Pitch knew it was too late.


	2. Troublemaker

Jack Frost had never been one that could be accused of taking himself too seriously. In fact, he often found himself to be the butt of his own jokes more often than not, but he kind of liked it that way. After all, at least if you found yourself to be amusing then that counted as one person laughing at your jokes. And later he would look back at this situation and laugh, entertained by the circumstances. Right now, however, Jack was glad that the rising belief in him had not spread much this far south and no one would see the way he swung ridiculously back and forth, trying to dislodge his hood from the branch of a large oak tree.

Here he was, just trying to do his duty and spread a little winter snow and, yet again, trouble followed. South Africa was very interesting, he had to admit. Cool people, funny accents. And he had a certain fondness for a little town at the base of the Drakensberg Mountains. It was tiny and not much to look at in many respects, but it was quaint and Jack found himself visiting many times (though if you were to ever ask him why he would merely smile and shrug). It was just one such visit that had him in the conundrum that he found himself in now.

He and the wind had always had a love-tolerate relationship, meaning Jack loved using the wind to get from place to place and the wind, ever magnanimous, went along with the idea to get the winter spirit to shut up. Jack admitted there was probably a reason most spirits avoided him; he liked to babble, most the time about nothing, and that seemed to irritate others. And sometimes the filter between his brain and his mouth did not function as well as it should. Call it a curse of being a perpetual teenager.

In all fairness, he had not meant anything with his comment that the wind was beginning to slow down some and was not a nimble as it used to be. It had, but saying so as it was carrying him over the countryside was probably not one of his best ideas as the wind stopped and unceremoniously dropped him into a tree. And it was here he got stuck on a branch by his hood, the cotton material slightly strangling him and causing him to accidentally drop his staff.

"Wind, come on," the winter spirit panted, "You know I was just kidding, right? You blow just as hard as you always have!"

Jack had just gotten his hands around the branch and was pulling the hood free when the wind exploded around him and twirled around him, knocking his hands down and twisting the cotton behind his head enough that it made breathing a bit more difficult. Not that it would kill him, but the feeling was rather uncomfortable. Jack gagged.

"Okay, okay," he croaked, "Not the best wording on my part, sorry. But do you think you could let me down so we can talk about this? You know how my mouth gets away from me sometimes."

The wind blustered around him again, spinning him the opposite direction but leaving him as tightly strung up as before. Okay, a new tactic then. Just as he was about to open his mouth to try again with the offended element, Jack spied a group of four young boys, laughing and hollering, running past his location. Jack smiled to himself and reached up to grab the branch and pulled himself up just enough to gather breath to yell and gain their attention.

"Hey, kids!"

Two of the four thundered past him, never once lifting their eyes from their destination to give even a hint that they had heard his call. The third, a smaller boy looking at least two years younger than the first two, paused feet from the base of his tree and looked up at the Guardian curiously. Luckily, the kid decided that the staff on the ground near his feet was no more interesting than any other stick.

"Hey there, Kid. Think you can give me a hand?"

The boy continued to stand in the dirt of the road, watching the mysterious spirit twisting in the tree, appearing for the entire world to not understand a single word that had come from Jack's mouth.

"Umm, _hello_?" Jack waved his hands, as if the gesture would clear up his meaning, "Little help?"

The boy continued to stare, keeping his eyes on the spirit even as the fourth of the boys came up beside him, peering up to where Jack hung in the tree and looked right through him. The fourth boy, taller than the other by a couple of inches, nudged the smaller with an elbow and asked a hushed question, careful not to overly jostle the object that he held in his hands. An object that unexpectedly began to writhe in his grip.

Jack paused in his struggle to free himself and focused his attention on the moving thing, suddenly feeling a leaden sensation settling in his gut. In the boy's hands thrashed a dark brown snake, twisting its lighter underbelly into the air in order to try and escape, its black tongue frantically flicking in and out of his mouth.

"Kid, maybe you should tell your friend to put that down. Do you have any idea how dangerous that thing is?!"

Jack continued to try and free himself as the smaller boy continued to watch and the taller of the two kept speaking to his friend in quiet tones. Jack pulled himself up, almost yanking the hood free, but just as he had the fabric practically over the limb, his hands slipped and he dropped back down, strangling himself once again.

The slighter boy snickered at the spirits predicament, never once moving to help. Jack continued to gag and pull at the fabric around his neck as the child turned to his friend and smiled mischievously before speaking rapidly in a language Jack couldn't understand. The other boy shared his smile and looked down at the still squirming animal then back at his friend. Jack frantically reached out towards the children, vainly hoping that they would look back to him and understand his concern. Giggling madly, both the boys turned back the way that their friends had gone and sprinted away, neither one looking back to see the hanging apparition.

Jack continued to tug at the hoodie, struggling to gain a decent grip on the wood above him. He continued long after the dust from the kids feet began to settle, even after he knew that the boys were gone and the sun began to set. Even if he was able to find the boys now, their mischief with the snake was likely to be over, with nothing he could about it.

Finally, as the moon rose in his peripheral vision, Jack let his arms fall to his sides and groaned. Getting out of the tree on his own was turning out to be a futile endeavor and there was only one thing that he could think of to solve his dilemma.

"Okay, you win. I give," the spirit rasped.

There was no response from the wind, at least none that the winter spirit was able to discern. Rolling his eyes to the stars, Jack groaned.

"Please?"

Long minutes passed as Jack waited, hoping for a favorable response from the sentient element. Finally, just when the Guardian was about to give up and try and continue to figure out a way to get himself out of the tree, the wind blasted through the branches in such a violent fashion that the branch that held the young spirit creaked loudly before snapping. Abruptly, Jack was dropped to the ground, knocking whatever breath he still had from his lungs and creating billows of dust around his pale form as though the dirt had sprung forth from him itself.

Jack stared up at the sky, laying spread eagle for several moments before he was able to pull in a ragged gasp of air. Coughing harshly, he pushed himself up and tried to keep from breathing in the still airborne dust particles dancing in front of his face.

"How about-"he wheezed, "how about we call a truce?"

A slight breeze rustled through his hair hesitantly and Jack grinned.

"So," he grunted as he stood, wobbling slightly due to his recent lack of air, "to the North Pole?"

* * *

Jack smirked as he hung upside down over his intended victim. The large yeti was none the wiser of his mischievous stalker and continued working contentedly on the toy boats that he was painting. The yeti turned to grab another color from his stand of paints, leaving the boat open to anyone who happened to stalk by. Just the opportunity that Jack was hoping for.

Quickly Jack reached out with one pale hand and wiped a still fresh line of blue paint from the hull of the toy, moving just in time to keep from being caught as the other turned back to his work. Jack snickered quietly to himself as the yeti exclaimed loudly at the streak of paint-less area on boat. The yeti scrambled for the blue paint that he had lay to the side only to turn and find the streak gone. Confused, he observed the toy for a moment before shrugging and turning back to his table to paints and reaching for another color. As he turned back, the yeti squealed in alarm as the blue hull that had previously been on the boat was now red.

Jack, ever the spirit of maturity, was floating in the air, doubled over in silent hysterics as the yeti frantically searched around and under the desk, desperately trying to figure out what was causing his paint to continue to change. Slowly calming from his fit, Jack watched as the yeti sat back down before the toy, eyeing the object suspiciously as he slowly reached for a new can of paint. Jack readied his staff, waiting for the other to turn away for a second, only to be yanked back away from the startled creature and into a large solid form. Jack looked up to find the bright blue eyes of North staring down at him with disapproval and a hint of humor.

"Jack," the older Guardian chastised, "should not pester, Phil. Is still frustrated over last time with dolls."

Jack rolled his eyes.

"Common, North. What little girl doesn't want a kick-ass mutant baby doll?"

Jack pulled out of the other's grip, deftly avoiding the swiping paw of Phil, and jumping to balance on top of his staff.

"I mean, if I were a girl, I think that would be the best thing ever!" North chuckled and shook his head.

"Let's just let yetis worry about toys for children, yes?"

North moved away from the work station and moved further into the workshop and Jack watched him for a moment before hoping down to the floor. Turning a little to look back as he walked, Jack gave a mock salute to the fuming yeti staring after him.

"See you later, Phil."

Jack deftly avoided the wrench that sailed by his head and slid through the halfway open door that North left open in his wake. He rushed to follow the large form that was moving down the hallway, trying and failing to hide his smile as the other man looked at him over his shoulder with a raised brow.

Jack followed the older man into his large Globe room and watched as North began pushing buttons over the console and flipping switches. Jack pulled himself up on the counter beside the board to watch the Guardian of Wonder work.

"What's up, Chuckles?"

It was a true testament to how comfortable North had become to having the younger spirit around that he didn't even flinch at the nickname. North simply continued with his work, never once pausing.

"Need to call a meeting and the signal must be sent."

Jack cocked his head and frowned.

"You mean your incredible light of awesomeness that excessively brightens the night sky and blinds all the poor birds that happen to be in the way?"

North paused in his movements and looked over to the winter spirit. He stood from his position hunched over the levers and raised a brow at the younger spirit.

"You have another idea?"

Jack couldn't help but smirk. Oh, yes. Yes he did.


	3. For What Its Worth

Sanderson ManSnoozie was not one that liked to dwell on things. In fact, most who had ever met him came out with the completely correct conclusion that he liked to let things slip off his back and forget about the past. For the most part, the past was the past and there was nothing and no one that could ever change it, so why worry about it?

But that was before he had 'died'.

As it was, death was a bit of a foreign concept to Sandy. Not to say that he was not aware of it or that it was visited upon the mortals all the time, but that he had never had to face any type of mortality on his own. Contrary to what the other Guardians thought, Sandy had been quite young when he had become a Guardian, barely into adulthood when the Man in the Moon had called him to action. So the thought of his death had never really crossed his mind as a mortal and when he had become an immortal, why, he had all the time in the world. So why think about it?

And, then, in the battle against Pitch all of that had changed. There he was, one moment fighting with everything he had, knowing that it was to be his last stand and then waking up to face a different battle with new rules. He was grateful that he was given a second chance and that he had been able to help his fellow Guardians and the children and it was a chance that he would not waste. But he could not help but think on that dreadful time in between when all there had been was this awful nothingness.

His hand was buried in the soft cloth of the leg of his pants, smoothing wrinkles out of the garment only to place new ones a moment later. His agitation was only growing with this train of thought but he could do little to get his mind off the topic.

Now over three years had passed since that battle. Sandy should have been able to get over the problem by now, because what is time to an immortal being that has lived for thousands of years? But no matter how hard the keeper of good dreams tried, the nagging of that empty feeling kept pushing against his subconscious time and again, forcing him to revisit that memory-or lack thereof- at the most inopportune moments.

That was what brought him to here and now, over the coasts of Estonia, creating ever more complex and detailed dreams one after another, hoping that the work would take his mind off this disturbing development. At that moment he was creating an intricate ballet fairy tale complete with a magic forest and a fairy prince for a young girl awaiting her first dance recital the next day.

"Wow, Sunshine, I didn't know you were in the process of becoming a dance instructor."

Startled, Sandy let his concentration slip for the barest of seconds, but that was more than enough for the dream to unravel and become nothing more than shapeless dream sand once more. With a silent sigh the golden guardian turned to give the hovering form of Jack Frost a withering glare. The Guardian of Fun held his hands up in a placating gesture and gave the shorter man a wry grin.

"Sorry, sorry. But, wow, that's a little more work than you usually put into a dream, isn't it?"

Truly it was, but there was no need to tell the other that.

Sandy had to constrain himself not to roll his eyes and instead gave the other a small smile, showing that he really wasn't mad. Now that he had company, Sandy gave up and shaped a simple ballet dream and sent it off before turning his attention to the winter spirit.

_What are you doing so far north this time of year?_

Jack quirked his head to the side in question before he seemed to understand and smiled. Indeed, it was summer in this area of the world and the icy spirit was normally not one to frequent places so warm. Sandy had noticed the way that Jack had had to cut visits short with Tooth in her palace and how he seemed to frequent the Warren earlier in the spring season more often than not. The younger Guardian never said so, but it his discomfort with heat was obvious to the others and they did their best to convene at North's home.

"Well," Jack said as he turned to float upside down with a large grin, "I was looking for you, Sunshine. North is planning a get together to discuss something-or-other, I don't know. But instead of using that fancy little light trick he has, I thought I would be a pal, and lend a hand."

Sandy had to hand it to him. Jack was nothing if not amusing.

_And I suppose this has nothing to do with having an excuse to be in the Warren, would it?_

The frost that erupted over the younger Guardian's face was telling. Oh, yes, very amusing.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

Pale arms crossed over a lean chest as their owner glared at the dream weaver. Sandy could not help but laugh silently at the younger man. North and Tooth might not have seen it yet, but it was all too obvious to Sandy that there was some underlying tension in the interactions between one Pooka and the Guardian of Fun. There was little to no doubt in his mind that sooner rather than later that very tension would come to a head. He was very much looking forward to that particular incident. But for now…

Sandy rolled his eyes and grinned, attempting-and succeeding-in disarming the other. Reluctantly, Jack relaxed and allowed his own smile to return to his face with all traces of earlier embarrassment gone from his form.

The younger looked down and watched Sandy's dream sand do its work. His eyes lingered on none of them, but his smile began to fade. He could read the worry in the other's expression and knew that it matched his own doubts.

_You said something about North wanting a meeting?_

Jack blinked and the shadows in his eyes vanished.

"Oh yeah! He said that he wanted to see every one as soon as they were available, so…"

Jack trailed off, gazing down to the little town below meaningfully and then looking back at Sandy.

_Try not to agitate Bunny too much._ Sandy signed with a smirk.

Jack sputtered and turned, readying himself to take off for the Tooth palace.

The shorter of the two shook his head and tossed some dream sand down and allowed it to take form as it landed at each home. Sometimes it was better for a generic dream to take effect than for none at all. Nodding to the other, Sandy manipulated his sand into his favorite plane form and steered it toward North's home, not bothering to look and see the other he left behind. He knew that Jack would show up soon, and whether or not that was with Bunny was to be determined.

* * *

Sandy, as a rule did his best to be nice and agreeable to everyone he met, but there was something about North's elves that set him off faster than a firecracker in a blacksmith's shop. They were nosey little creatures, always into everything and were, unfortunately, not that bright. The only redeeming quality that he could see in the nuisances was that they kept the place clean. The fact that one continued to try and steal his eggnog was not doing any favors for his opinion though.

"-and he asked me blue or red! These yetis, I do not think they know of good taste, yes?"

Noticing eyes on him, Sandy raised an eyebrow at his host and gave a noncommittal shrug. North laughed and turned back to the papers on his desk, giving the smaller man a chance to flick away the elf that was once again reaching for his cup. The pointy headed creature gave a satisfying squeak as it bounced off the ground, before getting up, glaring in his direction, and scampering off somewhere into the bowels of the workshop. Sandy grinned to himself. Now that the bothersome being was gone, Sandy was able to enjoy the environment of the others study. The dark wood and the warm fire that roared in the fireplace gave the overall impression of quiet and hospitality. There were hundreds of books that lined the walls and he would love to pick through them, but Sandy knew that the others would be there soon and then the meeting would begin. Some other time, perhaps.

Placated at the moment, Sandy drifted closer to the other man and looked over his shoulder to the long list that he was examining. It was a supply list for the upcoming season with various things such as lumber, gears, and stuffing- normal things that one would expect to see. He was confused as to one item toward the bottom of the list, though. Using his sand he pointed at the item in question. The color that suffused the bearded man's face could have been from either embarrassment or anger, Sandy did not know.

"Ah, yes. Elves found chocolate laxatives," North grumbled as he scratched at the back of his neck. "Where I do not know, but gave them to reindeer. Was not pleasant sleigh ride."

The fit of giggles that hit the sandman could not be helped regardless of the amount of scowling that the Guardian of Wonder did. It was difficult to rise from the floor when gravity and hilarity plotted against you. And that was the way that the last three members of their little group found them, with North half-heartedly huffing at his desk and Sandy rolling on the floor in silent laughter.

Toothiana fluttered over with a grin, her bright lavender eyes sparkling with glee as she observed the golden man quaking on the ground.

"So what did we miss?"

North stood and rolled the still giggling sandman out of his way with his foot. With much patience he guided his more collected guests around the golden obstacle and from the room.

"Is not important. But now that we are all here, there is much to discuss! Come my friends, we shall convene in Great Room."

The others glanced back at the small man, but merely shrugged and followed. After several moments, finally done with his moment of levity, Sandy was able to remove himself from the floor and follow the others out of the room, but not without a few amused glances from the others. He would tell them later.

The Great Room, as its name suggested, was truly great. The room was nestled into the mountain, making it safe from any attacks that might be waged against the workshop, but that did not mean that it was stifling. It was large enough to have housed two Warrens comfortably and still have had room to spare and the ceiling spanned up so high that the light from the huge wall sconces barely lit the beams that crossed it. In the center a large ornately carved table was placed, big enough to seat over two hundred guests, though with the amount of yetis that worked in the place it was likely that it had seen more than that. A fire was lit in the enormous fireplace that stood behind the head of the table, casting even more light along the walls of the room and giving it more of an inviting feel.

Sandy took his seat next to Jack as the younger looked about in wonder. Across from them Toothiana and Bunnymund sat with North at the head.

"Geez North, think you have enough room?" North chuckled.

"You like? I have been thinking more company would not be remiss."

Jack looked over Sandy's head at the other man with a raised brow.

"Ya think?"

North smiled.

"Yes, but this is not why I have called you here," North stood from his chair and let his gaze pass over each of them. His brow furrowed and the mood took a more somber tone. "You are all doing well, yes? Duties taken care of?"

Each nodded and looked up at the large man. Tooth cast a worried glance back at Bunny, absently rubbing at a feather. When she turned, her eyes locked for a moment with Sandy's. He sent her a questioning look but the fairy merely shook her head and focused on North. Confused, he glanced at the other two, doing his best to study them as covertly as possible. Bunny was doing his best to maim Jack with only the heat of his glare. All the while, the winter spirit was trying so hard to avoid that gaze that if he stared any harder at it, Sandy was sure that the table would suddenly combust. Sandy's brow furrowed and he rubbed absentmindedly at the cloth of his pants, wondering what had happened between the two in the hour since he had seen the Guardian of Fun.

There was no use speculating about it now, but the short man was determined to corner one-or both-of them after the meeting to get the scoop. For now, he supposed, it was best to focus on the here and now. With that in mind, he turned his attention back to the hulking man at the head of the table.

"There have been no problems?" Jack and Tooth shook their heads and Sandy was also about to reply in the negative when Bunnymund slapped his paws on the table and rose violently out of his seat.

"What is the bloody deal? I'm tired, I just finished off Easter and you want a little heart-to-heart? Just tell us what this is all about, Mate!"

North sighed and raised his hands in a placating gesture. Slumping his shoulders the bearded man fell into his chair and looked up toward the ceiling.

"The Grand Council has called for a meeting and they wish for all immortals to attend."

Bunny's eyes grew large as Tooth gasped. Unable to articulate anything more, Sandy merely allowed a question mark to form above his head to signify his disbelief. The only one that did not react was the youngest of them all who looked around uncertainly.

"Who is the Grand Council?"

"How do you not know who the Grand Council is?" Bunny growled at the frost spirit as he turned to pace along the table. "Where have you been, Mate? Under a rock?"

Jack visibly bristled under the verbal attack and Sandy could see frost forming under the younger spirit's feet. Leaning forward in his chair, Jack pinned the Pooka with a glare and gestured pointedly with his staff.

"Well, if someone gave enough of a crap to talk to me for even a minute in three hundred years maybe I would know more about your little secret club!"

Sandy knew that they each felt guilt even now for the fact that they had paid no mind to Jack for so long, but it was evident that despite the guilt Bunny was not going to give on this one. He was much too agitated, doubly so with the mention of the Council. The Pooka whirled on his paws to face other and growled low in his throat.

"Listen here you little-"

"Enough!"

All eyes turned to the form at the head of the table. North stood with his hands braced on the wood, looking imposing with the light of the fire illuminating his frame and his normally bright blue eyes hardened in anger. He narrowed his gaze on the two quarreling individuals and Sandy was for once glad that he was short enough not to be accidentally caught in that stare.

"There will be no fighting in my home," North glared harshly at one then the other not once relenting. "Do you understand?"

Reluctantly both the Pooka and the frost spirit nodded and relaxed back into their seats. North held his stare for a moment longer before giving an exasperated sigh and plopping back down into his chair. Several minutes passed with silence reigning before anyone dared to speak but Sandy continued to watch the two warily.

"The Grand Council," Toothiana began helpfully, eyes darting between Bunny and Jack for a moment before continuing, "is a group of five of the oldest immortals on Earth that govern over us all. They are responsible for keeping the balance between those of us that share the seasons and even between us and the human world. They are the ones that keep the order and make changes if that order is upset. Though they have not called a meeting for over five hundred years now."

"Oldest immortals? But I thought-"

"You thought what?" Bunny sneered at the younger guardian. Sandy rolled his eyes, something was going to have to be done about those two and soon. North cleared his throat from Sandy's other side causing the Guardian of Hope to shut his mouth before his next retort could be spoken and slump down in the chair.

"We have been here some time, yes." North supplied, "but there are others that have been here longer. Surely there are others you have come across?"

Jack blushed and fiddled with his staff.

"Yeah, I just guess I never thought of it before."

North nodded sagely and opened his mouth to continue when, suddenly, one by one the torches lining the walls in the sconces flickered out, leaving only the fireplace as the only source of light in the room. A weighted silence fell over the room, seeming to make the air harder to breathe. Sandy could see Tooth slump in her chair, violet eyes frantically searching for any indication of movement. Bunny and Jack did the same, though both sat stiffly in place, as if a single movement would break the terrible tension and bring something worse upon them. Sandy himself listened for any indication of an intruder, hoping all the while that it was merely one of the elves playing a prank, though he could tell from the set of North's shoulders that it was no such thing. Though he could hear nothing out of the ordinary, he found himself listening to the silence so hard that he startled when North growled and turned his head sharply to stare at something in the shadows.

"What is meaning of this?" the large man shouted as he lunged to his feet, his chair clattering back to the floor from the force of his movement. Sandy turned his gaze to where the other man was staring and was shocked to see none other than a Nightmare staring right back. The dream weaver shot out of his seat and into the air, vaguely noting the others moving as well. If there was a fight to be had, never let anyone say that they were ones to cower down.

Sandy pulled his sand around him, ready to either attack or defend at a moment's notice and scanned the corners of the room searching for the owner of the beast. Several moments passed with no movement on either side, each waiting for the other to make a move.

"Pitch," North's voice bellowed out, "come out and fight if that is what you are here for!"

Getting a sense of where his allies were, Sandy spotted Bunny facing to the left, spine straight and boomerangs at the ready. Tooth was floating to his right, keeping a firm eye on the Nightmare in case it where to make any sudden movements. Jack was still on the ground behind him with his staff held out firmly in both hands as North stood to the right; brandishing a sword that Sandy had no idea where the other had procured.

Seconds crawled by and still no move was made. The only noise that could be heard was the heavy sound of their collective breathing and the pop of the fire that still blazed. The Nightmare did not budge, keeping its eyes set firmly on the Sandman. Sandy felt a chill travel down his spine. There was something definitely not right here.

The whole room tensed as the beast snorted and tossed its head, but it made no move to attack or retreat, its eyes never tearing from their target. Sandy frowned. Bright yellow eyes followed his every move, every exhale, not once seeming to notice the presence of others in the room, almost as if they held no importance to the animal. The way that it looked at him, looking as if it were trying very hard to look inside him and figure out what made him tick, gave Sandy the feeling that it wanted something, something from him in particular. Several more moments passed, and with no indication of movement from the beast and scanning the room once again and finding nothing to alarm him, Sandy began to lower himself to the ground and approach the shadow creature.

"Sandy," Bunny hissed, "what do you think you're doing, Mate?"

The Nightmare shrank back at the exclamation but did not appear as if it were going to flee, at least not yet. Sandy kept his eyes locked with the creature and waved off the concern of his fellow Guardian. Something was wrong and he was determined to figure out what it was. The Nightmare tossed its head agitatedly and stamped a hoof on the ground, but otherwise did not move and he recognized the stance of a distressed animal in the behavior.

Slowly, so as not to startle the animal into running, Sandy extended his hand, palm up. He could feel the others tensing up behind him, but paid them no mind. It would not do to spook the animal more than it already was. He waited for several silent moments neither pushing forward nor pulling back as he waited for the beast. It tossed its head again, mane flying back and shifted its weight from side to side, never allowing their eyes to break contact. Tension filled the air and no one dared to breathe for fear that it would be enough to break the moment and send the animal running.

Just as he was ready to give up and pull his hand back, the Nightmare slowly moved forward and sniffed at the outstretched limb. After a minute, apparently finding nothing worth fearing the beast stepped closer and pushed its head into Sandy's waiting hand, inviting him to gently stroke along its muzzle. The contrast between gold and darkest black was startling but the dream weaver kept his hand moving gently on the soft form of the creature.

Sandy could feel the others moving slowly behind him as he worked to soothe the creature, making sure not to startle the beast and cause it to lash out violently. The Nightmare shifted, heavily favoring its left side and Sandy raised a brow. Still moving slowly and keeping one hand against the beast, Sandy moved sedately from muzzle to neck to withers to flank, all the while watching for an indication of flight from the animal. The small man pressed a palm against the left flank of the beast, feeling a strange heat from the area and pulling away immediately when it shied away in pain from the touch. Golden brows furrowed and he looked grimly to the large bearded man who had moved in from the side.

_It's hurt._

North shook his head in confusion.

"What could hurt a Nightmare, I wonder?"

Sandy did not have time to try and formulate an answer as at that moment the Nightmare pulled away from his touch and turned to lip at his arm gently. Sandy silently gasped as dark teeth pulled on his clothing, seeming to guide him back to the creature's side. Toothiana stuttered forward as if to pull him away and back to safety but one wave of a golden hand was enough to stay her. It would not hurt him, if nothing else this was something he was sure of. Sandy allowed himself to be guided to the side of the animal and was almost shocked to the point of scrambling back when the Nightmare lowered its front to the ground, clearly wanting him to climb on. The beast rested on the floor, calmly watching the small man, giving no indication of moving until a decision was made.

Amber eyes stared into gold, silently willing the dream weaver to trust that the animal meant him no harm. Time seemed to still for Sandy. Everything around froze and he could hear nothing but the sound of the animal's breathing and his own heartbeat. He held the gaze almost afraid to break it for fear that the moment he did, everything would fall down around him. Clam yellow stared back, calming in their depth. Sandy's heart began to slow from its rapid pace and the moment the animal blinked, something snapped into place in his mind. He knew, in this moment, without a doubt, that this Nightmare needed him and it would do nothing that might keep him from giving that assistance. Time restarted around him and the man stepped forward, fully intending to pull himself up onto the back of the beast and allow it to take it where it would.

"Now hold on just a minute!" The Sandman turned his head to give a questioning look to the Guardian of Hope. "You aren't actually thinking of going with that thing, are you? This could all be some sort of plot just to get us into some sort of trap. Who knows what Pitch could have planned?"

Bunny pointed his boomerangs at the Nightmare who still stood bowed at the front, waiting patiently for a decision.

"I, for one, am not ready to walk willy-nilly into a trap, thank you very much!"

Sandy pleadingly looked to North. This did not feel like a trap, it did not feel like there was anything more to it than a desperate plea. For what, Sandy did not know, but he was willing to find out. North sighed and shook his head.

"Bunny is right, Sandy. This could very well be a trap. I do not know what Pitch is trying to do, but I do not think it will do to walk into his plans like fools."

Tooth was nodding her head silently and Jack had his arms crossed tightly with a scowl on his pale face. Troubled, Sandy turned his eyes back to the animal in front of him. Golden eyes met amber once again looking for something to indicate any other intention but what he had felt from the beast before. There was no deception in the placid gaze, nothing but intelligent question and a deep desperation. A moment of silent understanding passed between the two and Sandy knew that his mind was made up for him.

Wasting no more time the dream weaver levered himself onto the beast's back and clutched handfuls of mane as it stood to full height. He turned his gaze to the others in query. He would go with or without them, but he hoped fervently that it was with.

Bunny groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose with one paw.

"Well, hell! I guess we're gonna walk right into our own party, are we?"

Sandy flashed the Pooka a bright grin.


End file.
